


The Winds of Winter

by Stormchaser17



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Canon Compliant, Cousins Love, F/M, Fix-It, Implied/Referenced Incest, Jonsa - Relationship - Freeform, Jonsa endgame, Jonsa feelings, Legends of the North, Not for Dany fans, One Shot, POV Sansa Stark, Political Jon Snow, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Season/Series 08 Finale, Queen in the North, Sansa Stark is Queen in the North, Stark Family, Tales of old, Where will we go?, Winterfell, jonsa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-05-13 18:09:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19256455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stormchaser17/pseuds/Stormchaser17
Summary: Sansa is Queen in the North, and all seems calm from the Six Kingdoms in the South. But even if the Spring is around the corner, the Winds of Winter still bring storms of snow and ice over the lands of the Starks. She remembers an old tale of what happened many generations ago, narrated by her dear father, and her thoughts go to Jon, beyond the Wall.Was he feeling as alone as her now? Was he feeling as cold as her in the lands of Eternal Winter? Did he want her company, like she fiercely wanted his?Maybe the WInds will bring her something else than ice and snow... maybe the Winds will bring her someone from the True North...





	The Winds of Winter

DISCLAIMER: I obviously, and unfortunately, do not own Game of Thrones or A Song of Ice and Fire or everything associated with those productions. GRRM and HBO do. I only own the idea of this fanfiction.

 

* * *

  **The Winds of Winter**

by **Stormchaser17**

* * *

One of the first memories that Sansa had of her dear father was of him lifting her little body to his lap, embracing her between his strong arms and stroking her already luscious red hair, whispering little things that her child mind could barely understand.

But she remembered the warm sensation of feeling protected, as if nothing could ever harm her.

Sometimes, when she was a bit older and Rickon just a little babe, she caught her father while he was narrating stories of the North to her older brothers, and one of them remained stuck with her for all her life.

She wasn’t usually included on these occasions. She understood the reason later in her life, and it was the umpteenth attempt of her father and her mother to shield her, a future Lady, from the unfairness and the harshness that was the real world, outside the walls of Winterfell, hoping that her future match would have continued her parents’ work.

All for her to live the best possible life that the harsh lands of Westeros could give.

And then, everything crashed down on her. She didn’t resent her parents for not preparing her in the way they prepared her brothers. She understood that they had the best intentions, and she understood the causes of her family downfall.

Oh, how much she cried when she saw her father beheaded. How much she cried when she heard of the fate of her dear older brother, and of her loved mother, at the hands of traitors and oath breakers.

She managed to overcome these hard trials, but in doing so she forced herself in making decisions and thinking about actions that now she had no difficulty in accepting, but that at the time seemed like unsurmountable walls and mountains of ice and snow, which made her slip every time she made a false step.

She learned from everything and everyone, and she became a Queen.

The Queen in the North.

She idly wondered if her parents, and her family, from the afterlife, were proud of what she’d become. Of the sacrifices, the compromises she had to do, the horrors she had to endure, and the little times of joy she had.

But she would always remember that one late afternoon, in her father’s solar, now _her_ solar, with Robb and Jon, listening to the tale of _The Winds of Winter_.

* * *

 

“And so, the men…”

When she was small, Sansa was a very curious child. She was eager to know everything she could to make her family proud as a Lady, but she also liked to hear as many as tales as she could.

That’s why she was trying to eavesdrop from the outside of the solar, trying to catch all the details of the story without being noticed, but a moment of distraction made the door creak on its hinges, and she let out a little yelp in the process.

“Sansa? Come in dear.” Her father seemed amused, from the tone of his voice, so she stepped inside without fear of having disturbed him and was suddenly hit with the warmer air of the chamber, relishing in it.

She approached the mat in front of the stoked and roaring fire with little steps, where also Jon was seated cross-legged, while Robb was on an oversized -for him- chair next to their father.

“Is everything all right, my dear?”

“Yes, father.” She nodded. “I just heard your voices and…”

“…and you wanted to hear a story?”

A tiny blush of pink bloomed on her cheeks. Normally, it would be her mother, or her septa, to regale her with heroic accounts of the knights of old, saving beautiful maidens, restoring ancient kingdoms, and battling incredible foes, emerging victorious every time, after many challenging trials.

But her father stories were different, from what she was able to understand when Jon and Robb talked about them or tried to act them like they were the protagonists, and she was present to hear and see it displayed before her eyes.

Her father spoke of the hard tales of the North, filled with ice and snow, of monsters behind the Great Wall, and ancient magic that protected Winterfell from the outsiders.

She would never tell, but she found those equally fascinating, because they showed her an unknown world, perilous, but filled with the strong men and women of her father’s lands.

She heard him give out a little laugh, and he ruffled her hair, well knowing that she hated it. But it was a gesture of love, and nonetheless, sometimes she craved for it, even if her hair would become messy.

He looked straight at her with his usual gruff smile. “Sansa, you know that your mother…”

“Yes father, I know.” She puffed her cheeks a bit, unbecoming for a Lady, that she was aware of… “But I really wanted to hear a story from you. Can I?”

Her large doe Tully-blue eyes were an unfair weapon to use, but they always had their effect when she was pouting. And she learned to use them as the best that she could.

“Let her hear one father. What harm can it do?”

That was Robb, practicing his best ‘future Lord of Winterfell’ voice, even if it was not even near the somber tone of her father, and definitely squeakier.

Jon, as usual, was silent, just looking at the situation around him. She didn’t really understand Jon, because while he was good with her and her brothers, especially with Robb, and for some reason, he was starting to be really close to little Arya, he rarely spoke. He rarely looked at anyone in the eyes, and he always had this sullen and detached mood that followed him almost everywhere.

She knew that her mother didn’t like him, but she hadn’t explained her motives to Sansa, so she was undecided if it was better to follow her mother or to follow her father.

But before she could go on from this train of thought, she was brought back in the solar from her father low rumble of consent.

“All right, please sit, sweetling, and you’ll hear a story like no one you’ve ever heard before.”

She got excited at the prospect, and her eyes shone with an inner light of delight. She almost ran to the rug, to seat near the warm fire, and Jon welcomed her with a little almost imperceptible smile, nodding to her. She beamed back to him while she diligently and elegantly adjusted her gown before lying down.

_A Lady has to be proper in every situation, Sansa._

Her father started the story, and every child was enraptured by the incredible tale of _The Winds of Winter_.

* * *

 

In her current solitude, a feeling that she was becoming more and more adjusted to, after the maid left her to her work, she was not surprised that she sensed the cold seep into her blood, her bones, her entire being.

Outside, a furious and roaring wind was coming from the North, and from the Wall. Probably that was what made her recall that story.

_The Winds of Winter are like the North. Unforgiving, relentless, unpredictable._

She also remembered shivering when she heard that. It wasn’t a glamorous tale, but a story that told her the truth regarding the lands in which she lived. The North could be demanding, could be ruthless, especially to the outsiders.

_A long time ago, there was one of our ancestors, named like me, Eddard Stark._

_Eddard Stark the Brave._

_He never really fit inside the expectations of the family. You have to remember that it was more difficult then, fewer crops were available, less food, and the people were harsher._

For a time, she felt like an outsider, when she was _Alayne_. Like Eddard the Brave. A role that also gave her a small glimpse of what Jon had to overcome being named a bastard. Being not considered, shunned, not loved, not appreciated… she found the first months at the Eyrie very difficult, not that she could show it, but many times she thought of a poor young Jon, isolated under a wooden perch, watching with envy and sorrow the others getting together.

_Eddard, in his younger years, was like you, a Summer’s child in everything he did. But he was also a quiet one, a reserved one._

_He was able to enjoy the simple things in his life. Running with his brothers, sparring with them, helping around Winterfell._

_But at the same time, since he was the Heir of the Starks, he had many more duties and lessons to attend to, with his parents trying to prepare him._

_Because Winter was coming._

Then, she felt broken, beyond repair, and for a time, the only thing she desired was the alluring and sweet taste of oblivion. She wasn’t able to escape from the dark spiral that her body and mind entered into, and her captor continued to abuse and torture her.

_For Eddard the Brave, many and many moons passed without him having to be concerned about the real ruling, since his father was still there._

_Unfortunately, the Old Gods had different plans and a different destiny for our family._

_All of a sudden, Autumn came, and with it, the floods which devastated the lands, eradicated villages, and forced hundreds of people to come to Winterfell to seek shelter, food, and warm houses._

Sansa shivered again, the winds were even stronger now, and rattled the wooden frame of the solar’s windows. She sat up from the comfy chair, and went to the fire to stoke it, putting a couple more broken logs over the embers. She needed to feel the heat. The heat meant that she was still alive and that Winterfell was still standing.

She didn’t remember the Autumn, because for the first time in many lives, Winter came straight from a late Summer, and with it, came the dead.

She wondered how Eddard the Brave could have faced that kind of menace for their lands. She wondered if her past ancestors would have had any advice to give her, and Jon, to confront their out-of-a-nightmare foes.

_With those many people all assembled inside the walls of Winterfell, it was just a waiting game before the first illness came, and it spread like few before it._

_The two maesters that were at Winterfell at the time knew immediately that they could not manage in healing everyone by themselves, and they sent ravens after ravens asking for help. First to the northern Houses, then to the rest of the Seven Realms, even to the Capital._

She remembered the day of her coronation. It was such an intense ceremony for her, she was tense as a harp’s chord, ready to snap at the first hard note of the song.

Luckily, nothing went astray, and everyone admired her beautiful aquamarine blue dress, with the intertwined reddish Heart Tree leaves on her coat and her regal poise. Like… she was born to be a Queen. When the direwolves crown-circlet was adjusted on her head, she felt like she had finally reached what she always had dreamt for.

A Queen of her own kingdom, who was loved by her subjects… no, that was the wrong word. Loved by her _people_ , loved by the lords of her land.

Everyone was working together to restore Winterfell and Wintertown, since there was still so much damage to repair. The walls that fell due to the attack of the undead dragon, Viserion if she remembered well, were still open, and any invader could conquer the fortress with not much effort.

That was one of the priorities, together with repairing the dwellings of the smallfolk, because even the strongest person of the North was nothing out in the open during Winter. They had to have new shelters again, and fast.

The important thing, which brought a smile to her lips, was that for the first time since her dear father unjust death, the North was starting to thrive again, and she hoped that she could do all that was in her power to bring it back better than it was before.

But then… why, that day, while everyone was so eagerly and passionately chanting _The Queen in the North!,_ she felt so… alone. There was a roaring fire behind her, but even then, she was so… cold.

_Unfortunately, many ravens fell to the harsher and harsher winds, and who knew at the time if anyone had reached its intended destination?_

_In what was then recalled as ‘The Year of the Three Seasons’, the winds changed again, and turned from the North, from the Wall._

_Bringing the first blizzards to an already damaged and bleeding Winterfell. All the smallfolk in the nearby villages tried to come to the Winter fortress, but the snow rapidly piled up on the countryside, on the roads, along the walls, and many perished during the voyage._

_Eddard tried to do his best, because even his father and mother, the Lord and the Lady of the fortress, were now bedridden with a harsh fever for the first, and a bloody cough for the second._

_He wanted to visit them, draw strength from them, be next to them and help them like they had done when he was young and sick, but the maesters and the other still healthy Lords forbid it, saying that the illness had already spread to many, and their young Lord could not be caught with it._

_Eddard was frustrated and annoyed by this, but he acquiesced to their wants, since he knew and had seen first-hand what could happen to an army without a commander._

_Did he feel ready to do his duty? No. He was just a boy of five and ten at the time, but he knew his responsibility to the people of his lands, and he tried his best to do what was right._

_He was a Stark, and like all the Starks before and after him, he endured._

Sansa was doing the same, now. She was enduring, she was trying her best to do what was right for everyone…

That image brought her again to a line of thought that she wanted to avoid so much, but that in the end, she couldn’t.

Jon…

How was he? Was he happy beyond the wall, with Ghost and Tormund? Was he thinking of Winterfell, of her family, of… her?

Could she dare think that even after everything that had happened to them, the mistrust, the lack of trust, the secrets, the actions, the reactions, the decisions… could she dare think that she was still in his thoughts?

That, sometimes, he looked towards the South -how much that sounded strange in her mind- and thought of his sister? His only family left in the North?

Oh, she was still furious with him, with many of the choices he made with the Dragon Queen. And yes, she could freely admit that she was jealous of what they seemed to have together, but at the same time, she had to respect his wishes, like he had done with her before and after having retaken Winterfell.

But, she also knew that, probably, her telling Tyrion of his real identity, while no one had even the faintest idea of it, not even Varys it seemed at the time (even if she was told that Daenerys knew), caused at least in part what happened at the end.

Did she regret it? No. Did she wish for something different? Yes.

His exile was without any sense, especially because it was made to appease a foreign invader, which then promptly went back home, and some of the Lords of the South, which would have no power at all in her Kingdom now.

It should have been all a ruse, but in the end, nothing could be done, nor by her, nor by others, and Jon had to pay the price of the destroyed Iron Throne.

She was sure that he felt devastated from what he had seen, from what he had to do, and from what he perceived -she was even surer of that- was all his fault.

Sansa got up, tired from the work of the day, and made her way towards the window which led to the balcony. The winds were still roaring, and she could see the snow accumulating fast on the stone surface of the keep.

Just looking at the storming currents while thinking of Jon made her exhausted, after another long day of what her lady-in-waiting, Alys, called ‘Queeny things’. She smiled at the memory of her jest, and sometimes she desired that a normal, less worrisome and less heavy day would come.

She decided to retire for the night, calling her maid to help her out of her braids and dress. Her last thought before sleep claimed her, was directed towards the North.

_But even endurance had a limit, and for Eddard the Brave, it was not a limit on his person, but a limit on his people._

_The sickness spread too much, too many were affected, and even his dear parents were on the verge of death if something would not have been done._

_No more than at that time, he desired for siblings to be there, to help each other with this crisis. But his mother had suffered much during the labours that preceded his birth, and the at-the-time maester told her that she could not have more children, for her own safety._

_His parents poured all their love for him, and he could not be more grateful for that. It would be an impossible price to repay, but he would try with all he could to do it._

_The first good news in what seemed a very long time, but that in reality was only two moons and a little more, arrived on the dark wings of a raven, going against the usual saying. A shipment with many goods and healing materials had finally reached White Harbour, and now they had to find a way to transport everything to Winterfell._

When Sansa woke up, the next day, her mind was brought back to the ray of light that seemed to pierce the blackness of the night that was brought by the Winds, by Ramsay… almost a blessing from the Old Gods.

Jon was there for her.

Jon had not refused her -albeit he needed some convincing.

Jon was Jon.

Since they had met again in the courtyard of Castle Black, she had felt closer and closer to him, being for a time the only two known Starks remaining in the cold and harsh lands of Westeros.

She prepared herself for another tiring day of work as The Queen in the North, and after her morning fast, went to her solar and opened the ledgers she was working on the evening before.

But, after a little time, she had to admit that she was now too distracted to continue doing the sums, and relaxed in her chair, looking at the flames in the big fireplace.

She knew that she and Jon had had their rows, their arguments, and the tension between them seemed to spike every time Littlefinger was called into their words. Or, when the Dragon Queen appeared in their discussions.

The Queen in the North closed her eyes and barely restrained a snort at their idiocy. She knew that she was right in keeping that serpent nearby, to avoid any potential unpredictable outcome, but at the same time, she understood that Jon was right in not feeling safe with him in Winterfell.

She also knew that the help that Daenerys provided, with her armies and her dragons had undoubtedly played a great hand when Winterfell was about to be overrun by the enemy. And she understood what he had to do to bring her here.

What she was against it was that the now dead Mother of Dragons had expected the North, and by extension all Westeros, to acclaim her as their savior, like a hero from an old tale suddenly coming from the heavens to liberate them all.

What she was against was that Daenerys Targaryen would have not come if they hadn’t bent the knee, and Jon didn’t go to that irresponsible ‘wight hunt’. Even now, she didn’t understand what they had thought to do with that… stunt. To her, it was obvious that Cersei would have not been convinced to send her troops north whatever the motive, but Tyrion was definitely the element in the group that advanced the proposal to them.

She let out an angry huff, berating herself a second after for losing composure, but what was done was done, and it was impossible to go back.

Eddard the Brave must have thought along similar lines after he decided to go personally to White Harbour and escort the shipment back to Winterfell.

_Our ancestor knew that his decision was a foolish one, but he, along only a few others, was now among the only able men to try and maybe success in bringing back what was desperately needed._

_They said that if they would have made it, the tale would go down to the legends of their people, of the North, as the brave Eddard challenged the North itself to save his people from certain demise._

_They dressed themselves in the thickest furs to protect them from the cold, got the best weapons to defend themselves and the best dried meat they could find in the fortress to sustain them. When they had finished their preparations, it was said that they could have been mistaken for a band of errant wildlings, coming from beyond the Wall because of the Winds of Winter._

_When they left, they received the usual blessing of the traveler, given from the Old Gods in the very Weirwood that we have now in Winterfell, and using a temporary break in the howling storm, set the pace towards the east._

_The Winds, however, had not finished exacting their toll on young Eddard, and one by one, the men in his company fell. The freezing temperatures, the lack of sleep, even two enormous bears attacked the party, still trying to fatten up after being surprised by the sudden Winter._

_Eddard, while still not seeing his destination, tried to give them the rest they deserved, but he knew that the ground was already partially frozen, so he could not linger too much._

_He asked for forgiveness, and for each one who fell, he asked for strength._

Moons passed, and Sansa felt that she had to do the same for each one which she left behind. The Winds of Winter were still going strong, some days more than others, but a strong raven from the Citadel in Oldtown, penned and signed by Jon’s old friend Sam, told her that probably a new Spring would come earlier than expected.

Those were fantastic news, but she was sure that in the North of the Starks, Winter would still have its say in their lives.

Alys was with her again this morning, and they were idly talking about what would happen when better weather would come. Of doing outside activities, of being faster in repairing the old keep, or even of being just a tad more relaxed in general.

Sansa could definitely agree with that. She was brought back to the many times she and Jon were alone in her or his chambers, while she was sewing something, or he was polishing his beautiful valyrian steel sword, and chatting about everything and nothing at the same time.

Those were times in which she felt… safe again.

That realization put a stop to the stitching she was doing now, and Alys asked if she was all right. Sansa promptly answered that she was and resumed her task.

But now that thought would not leave her mind. She knew.

Being with Jon made her feel safe. When he embraced her, she didn’t feel fear, or disgust, or repulsiveness, but only… good feelings.

_When Eddard managed to reach White Harbour, he found the sea town in an even worse state of Winterfell. At the time, it wasn’t as big as it is today, and the Lord of the time had already perished to the Winter, leaving no heirs to keep everything running smoothly._

_He grasped at his final bout of strength to arrive at the pier where the ship with the supplies was anchored, and the sailors got him in time before he could collapse and brought it inside._

_He woke up again days later, and the captain said that to tell him the truth they were reading themselves to leave, since there was nothing more to do for the city._

_Eddard objected immediately; they needed those supplies in Winterfell. At least the ointments and healing materials had to be brought back!_

_But the captain told him that even if they sent someone with him, they would meet the same fate of his party, and even if they risked their death by disobeying an order from their Lord, no one of the men would do something like that._

_Eddard wanted to do exactly that. But he remembered that in Winter, even if the hand of the Lord had to be always seen strong, everyone had to get together to be able to overcome the harsh season._

_He remained with them for a sennight, and then decided on what would earn him the title of Eddard the Brave._

_He decided to go back to Winterfell, to his home, to his family, trying to save everyone by doing a duty that was put and entrusted to him by his ancestors. The duty of a Stark._

Sansa knew that in the end, Eddard the Brave managed to go back, and after those many trials and tribulations House Stark come out from that Winter stronger than ever before. Eddard’s wife bore him many children, and he died knowing that he could say that his first and last thought, each day of his long life, was directed to his people.

Sansa could only take inspiration from that. She still had to learn, but she had time to get better and to improve.

* * *

 

Many days later, after a particularly difficult week, she remembered the biggest argument she and Jon had, after her ex-husband letter from Dragonstone. She hadn’t still seen all the horrors beyond the Wall but at the time she knew that going to the den of the Mother of Dragons was a mistake.

She could feel it in her veins, but she hadn’t managed to convince his only other relative in Winterfell of the opposite.

And then, disaster took them all. In the form of fire, ice, blood, tears, and death. From Winterfell to King’s Landing no one was safe, both from the Night King and from Daenerys Targaryen.

Sansa tried to understand Jon’s motives to allow her to continue in doing whatever she wanted, and she may have gained insight when she noticed that her own hand, Tyrion Lannister, was incredibly afraid of the Dragon Queen. Afraid of being burned alive, as she had done to poor Sam’s father and brother.

Then, immediately, many many things and happenings became clear to her. And she berated herself in not thinking from his point of view.

When he told her, forcefully, that the troops of the North would obey, that was him trying to save her after her objection.

When he refused to answer her question about bending the knee for the realm or for love… he was still trying to protect her.

When he, in the end, killed her, Tyrion told her that he got out of his state only when he made a reference to her and her sister. And Jon killed the Dragon Queen to protect her.

He really was… he really was a stupid, idiotic, restless, lovable fool.

Doing all that to avoid even involving her in his surely convoluted plan, knowing that he was doing a bad job but still determined in continuing without asking her for advice, which she would have given without even a second thought.

But if he believed that by not even mentioning a whisper to her, he could have kept her, and all their family, safe, he would have done again the same things he did.

The next time she would see him, they would have words. They would definitely have.

Thinking about her only other family member, her Jon, who was still in the North, brought a smile to light up her face. And she finally wondered if this was the time to let out some of the feelings that she had repressed so long, deep in her heart.

What would he think about those emotions she felt? Would he think her a deranged woman? Or would he return them back?

Sansa did not know with certainty, but if what she could feel from their strong hugs, their long moments together, the times where no words were exchanged but they could feel and talk just by looking and losing themselves in each other’s eyes…

She shook her head to remove that imagery from her mind. It would do no good in the end. She was there, in Winterfell, The Queen in the North, and the last she heard about Jon was when he was going beyond the Wall to bring the free folk back to where they felt they belonged.

She hoped that he was not of the same opinion, because all she could feel, in her mind and in her heart, was that he belonged _there_ , in Winterfell, _with her_.

_Next to her._

* * *

 

Many other moons passed, the Winds never relenting, even if the few ravens that managed to reach Winterfell from the South all spoke of a better climate, with sunny and breezy days in King’s Landing and the Reach, and even hot weather in Dorne.

But in Winterfell, Sansa was still battling with the snow and the ice, the smallfolk doing all that was possible to survive, because every gram of meat counted, every loaf of bread, every gallon of milk. The few shipments that she managed to arrange were all delayed or came in half-ruined, because even the seas seemed to be against her kingdom.

She was feeling more and more _tired_ with each day that passed under those harsh conditions, colder and colder, and more and more _alone_ than ever.

Sansa felt the weight of her crown all the way down to her feet, if that was even possible. Every time that the news of one of her people dying, sometimes an entire family lost to the snows, was a further stabbing feeling in her chest, or another punch in her gut.

After having her supper in her solar, trying to think of whatever possible other solution that she had not previously considered, she thought of Jon again. She didn’t know if he had those solutions, but she was sure that he could have helped her.

She didn’t think herself as weak for wanting to ask help. She fully knew her limits, and in this case, another head that knew the North was all that she needed.

And, possibly, another heart that belonged to the North too.

Sansa was brought suddenly away from this line of thinking by the deep and long sound of the Horn of Winterfell.

After a long, terrifying moment, where she thought that after the first one a second or a third would come… she realized there had been only _one_.

And that meant… _a Ranger from the Wall!_

Swiftly, all her tiredness was gone, and she ran to her quarters, not caring if anyone would have seen that un-Queenly behaviour, to get her heaviest coat on, and change her boots for a pair which was better suited for the snowy ramparts of the castle.

_If that ranger was… was…_

She was divided. She wanted to think that the ranger was her cousin, coming back from the True North, as Tormund used to say, but at the same time, she was afraid that this would be the umpteenth disappointment that her heart would have to suffer.

She was outside in no time, not waiting even for her personal guards, and climbed up to the turret where the horn was located, asking the guards -who were very surprised of receiving the _Queen_ herself and tried to tidy up as much as they could- what they had seen.

The captain pointed towards the immense white, towards the North, and she could feel the Winds in her bones, passing through her coat like it was not even there covering her.

For a very long moment, she didn’t manage to see anything. And then, all of a sudden, she saw _him!_

Even if he was no more than a speck on the distant horizon, she could recognize that black shape anywhere and everywhere.

Her heart sang at the sight, and she wanted no more than _run_ to him in complete recklessness, and she wanted to be enveloped by his arms, and never let go.

Unknown to each other, both she and Jon smiled. A smile full of warmth, a smile full of comfort, a smile full of relief.

All of a sudden, she wasn’t feeling cold anymore. She wasn’t feeling alone anymore.

Jon was here, back to where he belonged since the start of their adventure together under the Wall. And if he braved through the Winds to come _back_ , to _her_ , she could do the same for Winterfell, and be the Queen that everyone deserved.

With renewed vigour, she realized that now she wasn’t afraid anymore of The Winds of Winter.

Because, instead of bringing doom, and blizzards, where even the toughest of men could perish in the blink of an eye, in this occasion, _for her_ , they were bringing something else.

 _His promise_.

 

“Where.”

“Will.”

_“We.”_

“Go?”

* * *

**THE END**

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this was a little fic that came to me after watching again the last episode of GoT. There was so much in those last jonsa scenes that something had to come out of it, and this is the result. I surely didn't plan to create a tale of old at the beginning, but I think I managed to combine both storylines in a good way... I hope. This is a oneshot, so no continuations, but I think everyone can assume what will happen afterwards between them.
> 
> Jon and Sansa definitely deserved better! 
> 
> I hope that you all will like it! Don't forget to leave kudos and reviews if you feel like it! 
> 
> See ya at the next one!


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